


Forever Ain't Half The Time I Wanna Spend With You

by InMediasRes



Series: String of Fate [5]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - No Beast (The Magicians), Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Episode: s03e05 A Life in the Day, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mosaic, Mosaic Timeline (The Magicians: A Life in the Day), Peaches and Plums (The Magicians), Proof of Concept (The Magicians), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, but also not the Mosaic Timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:15:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28782552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InMediasRes/pseuds/InMediasRes
Summary: Forever is in Eliot's eyes.He just doesn't know it yet.
Relationships: Arielle & Quentin Coldwater& Eliot Waugh, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Series: String of Fate [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2076294
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32





	Forever Ain't Half The Time I Wanna Spend With You

**Author's Note:**

> So um. This is one of my favourite episodes of the show, and I really really wanted to include it in my AU so here it is.
> 
> Guys, this one spilled out so easily, it only took me a few hours, I can't with these two -
> 
> Title taken from What a Heavenly Way to Die by Troye Sivan
> 
> Hope you enjoy :)

* * *

One day during the week, a couple of weeks into their newly-dating status, Eliot and Quentin came across an outdoor art showcase in the park held by the art school round the block from Brakebills. They leisurely strolled through the throng of art students at the stalls showing and selling their paintings, their handmade jewellery, their designs. Eliot savoured getting to hold Quentin’s hand, getting to hug him, getting to _kiss_ him out in the open like this. He adored getting to see the delighted look on Quentin’s face as they looked at paintings together, his eyes lighting up with interest at the ones he liked.

Quentin was adorable whenever he got to ramble – about anything. Eliot liked debating with him about the meaning behind the paintings, their possible inspirations, as their creators would stand by and watch them in amusement as they bickered back and forth, charmed at their sweet adoration of each other. Eliot would end those debates by kissing Quentin mid-sentence, effectively cutting off his argument to leave him dazed and giddy by his side. Eliot often won those debates by proxy, causing Quentin to grumble under his breath about cheating, but Eliot would only give him another quick kiss to pacify him, at least until the next painting that caught their interest.

A particular crowd of people gathered in a large open area of the grass soon caught their attention, and Quentin pulled him towards them, peering over their shoulders to take a look. He grins at Quentin suddenly quivering in excitement when he turns back to Eliot, eyes shining.

“El. El, it’s the Mosaic.”

“What’s the Mosaic?”

“ _The Mosaic_. The puzzle.”

Eliot gives a small shake of his head, a quick “Nope,” slipping out.

“It’s – You use tiles – Are you kidding me? You use the tiles to create a design that reflects the beauty of all life, and when you do there’s a… A mystery prize. You – Really, you’ve never heard of this?”

When Quentin starts rambling like this, with that incredulous look on his face like _how do you not know this,_ Eliot can’t stop his grin from widening. Sometimes, like now, Eliot pretends to be clueless just for the excuse to listen to Quentin talk more. _God, Quentin is such a nerd_ , but who knew _Eliot_ would be such a sucker for a nerd trying to explain things. Whenever Quentin got like this – which was often – Eliot could listen to him for days, just taking in his excited hand gestures that he uses to express what he is saying, and the shining in his eyes that told of the joy he is feeling about getting to talk about something he cared about.

“The beauty of all life?” He repeats, a touch of amusement in his voice. “Sounds appropriately vague and impossible for art.”

Quentin rolls his eyes and takes his hand, pulling him through the crowd to the front where a middle aged man is staring down at the half formed picture he had created. Without looking up at them, he says “It’s all yours, if you don’t mind wasting your goddamn time.” They watch as he turns and leaves, disappearing into the crowd, before Quentin steps up and starts removing the tiles that have already been placed into the large square frame set out on the grass for the puzzle.

Eliot moves to help him, ignoring the people around them and the ones passing by, some casting an interested eye, others stopping to watch for a while before turning away. He hears Quentin muttering under his breath as he begins to sort the tiles into neat piles according to colour, which sounded a lot like –

“Seriously? Trying to calculate the beauty of all life?” Eliot asks sceptically.

“I was good at maths in school,” Quentin replies. And then, as an afterthought, “There’s a finite number of solutions so –”

Eliot laughs, drawing Quentin in under his arm. “I don’t think you can solve this puzzle with _maths_ , Q.”

He feels Quentin relax against his side as he lets out a sigh. “Yeah, I know. It was a nice thought.”

Eliot kisses his temple, smiling, before pulling away and stepping into the square frame. “Well, shall we?”

They ended up spending a few hours trying to solve the puzzle. After creating their first picture, Quentin had noticed a pile of paper and colourful chalks in a small basket on a table off to the side, and they decided to use that to keep track of the pictures they created so there was less chance of them repeating a pattern. The world had narrowed down to this puzzle and just the two of them – they could have been in a world of their own, for all they cared about the bustling crowd of New York. And when the sun had set, they decided to call it a day and maybe come back later to try some more.

They did come back the next day, unable to stay away from an unsolved puzzle. Quentin loved puzzles, and a challenge, and Eliot loved seeing Quentin getting excited and all worked up so – it was a win-win for them both. At the end of the day, Quentin would take the papers full of their day’s creations so they wouldn’t be binned by random passer-by’s trying to clean up rubbish, and then they’d bring them back the next day to try again.

They ended up going back for an entire week, a few hours a day after their classes at Brakebills, and it became their relaxation time. They would tease each other, they would bicker about the patterns, and Margo or Julia, or sometimes both, would stop by to have lunch or dinner with them outside. Each day they ignored the crowd that would watch with curiosity, only having eyes for each other and the puzzle they were attempting to solve.

Eliot doesn’t think he has ever had as much fun as when he was trying to solve the Mosaic with Quentin. He enjoyed teasing and bantering with Quentin, enjoyed discussing patterns and colour with him, enjoyed debating and bickering about what ‘the beauty of all life’ meant. Their patterns ended up devolving into nonsensical pictures after they tried to logic it out, and their days would often end with them both laughing at each other’s ludicrous ideas about life and its meanings.

And then, after having been working away at the puzzle for a week, Eliot had a passing thought that _Jesus, I could spend an entire life with this man and never get tired_. And the thought both thrilled him and terrified him in equal measure, and he busied himself with writing down the pattern Quentin was working on because _they were both still too young to think about forever_.

But that was when it clicked. Eliot felt his fingers holding the chalk go numb as an idea begins to form in his mind, and he stares down at the colourful pattern Quentin’s putting together that he’s supposed to be writing down but all he can think about is _an entire life_ and _too young_ and _forever_ and –

“El? Eliot!”

Eliot blinks, coming back to himself, and he looks from the papers in his hand to Quentin who is kneeling in the square frame, looking slightly concerned.

“Are you okay?”

A slow smile spreads across Eliot’s lips, so wide it threatens to split his face. But Quentin looks even more worried, probably thinking he looks manic or delirious or something.

“Q. Q, c’mere, I think I’ve got it.”

Quentin scrambles up, a questioning look on his face, as he makes his way to Eliot’s side. It only takes a brief couple of minutes to explain his idea before Quentin catches on, and he’s nodding enthusiastically, that light in his eyes that makes Eliot feel warm all over. They spend the next hour working on their new pattern in concentrated silence, working in tandem in an understanding built over the past week; they move around each other without needing to tell the other where they were moving to, what tile they were going to pick up next. They had reached that point where they _understood_ each other on a fundamental level, like they had really lived an entire life together and had learned each other in ways very few people could claim to have done.

Eliot secretly smiles as they place the last green tile down together, sweeping back a curl as they take a step back to inspect what they had created – a pattern of circles that, overlapping and interlocking, also created a pattern of flowers.

“El, you’re brilliant, you know that? I never would have thought of –”

“The Flower of Life?”

They both turn around at the new voice behind them to see a beautiful wisp of a woman with long strawberry blonde hair done in a braid. She’s smiling at them, and is carrying a basket filled with peaches and plums.

“Peaches? Plums?” She asks, as she tosses a plum at Quentin, who deftly catches it even in his surprise. “Arielle,” she says next, introducing herself as she takes a step towards them and offers her basket to Eliot, who takes a peach with a raised brow.

“You two are the first to have figured it out, you know?” She tilts her head at the Mosaic, sweet smile still in place. “It was a delight watching you come back and work on it every day.”

“Uh huh…?” Quentin says articulately, in true Quentin fashion. Eliot hides a snort by biting into the peach.

“I’m the art student that came up with this for my showcase. Inspired by the Fillory books,” she grins at Quentin, whose hand had twitched in surprise, still holding the plum he had caught. “The Flower of Life… A symbol of creation, of unity, of all life springing from one point and returning to it after death, encompassing the circle of life. How did you come up with the idea?”

“Oh, uh. It was Eliot’s idea, actually.” Quentin says, a small, proud smile on his lips as he catches Eliot’s eyes.

A strong fondness radiates out from Eliot’s chest at Quentin’s pride for him, for _Eliot_. Something only Margo had ever really looked at him with. He clears his throat and turns back to Arielle, saying “I was just thinking about life in general, you know? And what makes it beautiful. And to me, what makes it beautiful is _living_. We’re born, we grow, and then we die. And death, in the grand scheme of things, is what makes life beautiful – it can all end so fast, so getting to _live_ is beautiful.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself. You have a way with words.”

Eliot shrugs nonchalantly, but he’s still basking in the knowledge that _Quentin is proud of him for solving a silly little puzzle_ (don’t look too closely at it, it’s the little things that matter, he tells himself). For their mystery prize, Arielle gives them each a golden coloured tile with an imprint of the flower on the front and a key with a triangle design on the back, and her number so they can keep in contact and hang out whenever their schedules aligned. She also gives them the basket of peaches and plums, which delights Eliot because he can use them to continue making more flavoured drinks for Quentin. But Eliot thinks he will treasure this nondescript golden tile for years to come.

_Perhaps even forever_ , a voice in the back of Eliot’s mind whispers as he walks back to campus hand in hand with Quentin, the taste of peach still on his tongue.

**Author's Note:**

> I reiterate: I can't with these two -
> 
> I continue to cry over them and the life they should've had.
> 
> Also, I realised this episode is episode 5, and this one-shot is part 5 of this series, I literally could not have planned it better myself. Excuse me while I go cry over Queliot yet again.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading <3


End file.
